I heard about it, you’re crying inside. You won’t let it out so your body does it for you, brings forth the symptoms, and all of us bystanders seem unable recognize the obvious. Your sneezes, the watery eyes from seasonal hay fever, pollens give you a reason, you are permitted to cry.
Tests say its allergy to mites; gluten got a high probability, but no one knows for sure and probably never will. The specialist assures the shots may do it, for a while at least. But can you quiet the reality of a sobbing bout that’s been building up steadily, for ages?
Here goes again, the stuffy nose, red as a cherry popsicle, as if you’d been crying for days, decades. No, you won’t breathe tonight unless you take that pill, and push back the crippled grief, stuck inside the delicate tear of your long gone infancy.
Tears travel in waves of past tenses, and stopped up noses. You carry others loss up to the present, their need of truer love, heartache, the feeling of a virus passing, scathed skin under a touch, an earache developing. Now, take a capsule a day, like most people do on this grieving planet.
Or, you could cry for a week. I’ll wait here, won’t ask why. That would be a fine opening of the dam, main gates grinding apart, entire families weeping, up to the present, and soon maybe, allergy free.